


Coward

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Series: Forever Bound AU [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU where Aang was frozen at 16, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: It was his mission, his honour, his victory that they would steal from him. So Zuko takes.





	Coward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qouinette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qouinette/gifts).



> For Dondy, you lovely smut enabler, you. Inspired by this fantastic art: https://qouiestionable.tumblr.com/post/175713227567/

There is water in the cave, perhaps a local mountain stream that has worn down the stone walls to nothing over centuries, maybe the remnants of a once powerful waterfall diminished in the dry season, waiting for the monsoons to return full force and sweep away all in its path. Zuko shakes the thought away – he always got maudlin in times of introspection, too many years spent with Uncle by his side.

He ignores the stab of pain the thought of Uncle brings, instead focusing on the direction his thoughts have turned. Trust his instincts, that was what Uncle had taught him, that no wandering thoughts crept into a mind as disciplined as his without cause.

Water.

It could prove dangerous, having water close by. The Avatar’s earth bending was too weak to be a threat, but his water bending had developed well, enough to persistently slip through the hands of the Fire Nation with only two elements under his belt. Zuko had been humbled by recent defeats to know better than to underestimate the Avatar, and he could not afford to lose him again, not this time.

Outside, the tempest rages on, wind howling loud enough to prevent Zuko detecting any attackers approach before it is too late. He can only trust that the thin cave opening is concealed well enough that discovery will be impossible.

For now.

He has no doubts that his time here is limited, his safety an illusion. Azula will not be far behind, and has more than enough resources to track them. He cannot hope to outrun her, not like this, not alone, and certainly not with his precious cargo.

He drags a long pale leg over his shoulder, shifting his hips to settle in a rough thrust that drags a strangled groan from the Avatar, stomach muscles tightening as he fights the shudder as Zuko eases back in, slow, slower than he normally prefers. It is an illusion, that he has time to do this, time to take the Avatar apart piece by piece, an illusion when the boy’s hands are bound tight, an illusion when he has blindfolded him, but left his mouth ungagged, a weapon any air bender could utilise with deadly force.

What a sweet, foolish, pathetic illusion it is.

As if Zuko was ever in control.

His hips snap forward, a hard thrust, but all that escapes Aang’s lips is a hiss. He was vocal when they started, pleas and whispers and promises, so many promises, too tempting to bear, and Zuko had wanted to gag him, had slid his thumb past Aang’s teeth, dragged his cock against spit-soaked lips and down that dangerous, powerful, too chatty throat. It had been a momentary pleasure, silencing the Avatar at last, when Aang still looked at him with such _hope_ , such pity, like he _knew_ , that Zuko had wanted to press his thumbs into those hazel eyes and press until they popped like plums. His thumbs had rested on the soft skin of Aang’s eye socket’s knowing it would be easy, so unbearably easy, and Aang had just opened his throat, letting Zuko’s cock slip into the soft wetness and it had been too much like acceptance for Zuko to allow.

Now, Aang wriggles like a slippery leopard-eel in his grasp, whines with each thrust, thighs clenching in Zuko’s hands, hips stuttering up to meet him, and even in this, Zuko has no control. Never strong enough. The nasty thought is a sultry purr too much like his sister, and Zuko has to lean forward to bury his teeth into Aang’s jutting collarbone, lets the feeling of skin breaking under his lips and the salty tang of blood ground him in the present.

“Please,” Aang whines as Zuko lets his lips drag down, mouthing at a brown nipple as he passes, idly counting ribs as he lets teeth scrap against skin until pale flesh turns to tattooed blue.

“Please don- _ngh_ ,” The plea turns to a strangled moan as Zuko bites deep enough to draw blood, Aang’s hips jerking, pre-come dribbling onto his belly.

Zuko pulls back, admiring the red teeth marks now marring the blue line of the tattoo, a sick pleasure coiling within him at the thought that he has left his mark on something so sacred. So precious. So powerful. He dips his fingers in the glistening slick on Aang’s belly, darting his tongue out for a brief taste before rubbing them into the bite mark, watching blood and spit and come mix together. Entwined.

He wants to talk. Wants to gloat, or curse, or spit every hateful thing, every poisonous thought, every twisted desire, wants to engrave his words into the Avatar’s body so that everyone who comes after will never be able to deny who conquered him first, carved deep enough that Azula would never forget that she had come second in this at least.

But that would shatter the illusion, this play of unknown enemy, this shapeless formless thing. Zuko needs to believe this lie, just this, just for now. Until the storm has passed. But Aang won’t stop _talking_.

“Please,” he cries into the darkness, and Zuko can no longer be sure whether it is pleasure or fear that fuels the desperation in his voice anymore, knees slipping from Zuko’s shoulders to twine around his waist, heels digging into his spine to drag him close, and the fragile illusion cracks.

Zuko screams, jerking away, blades in his hand before he can think.

Blood.

He had wanted blood. A prize no one else could win, a prize won in blood.

Blood flows fast, but it is shallow, a small nick on a pale neck already littered with red marks. The Avatar is still now, chest rising and falling koala-rabbit quick. Zuko takes a moment, breaking deep, letting him settle within himself again.

The tempest still howls outside, lightning illuminating the cave in startling brightness. Aang’s flesh is cool, but inside he burns as hot as any fire bender, warm and welcoming tight. An anchor to reality, and Zuko would laugh at the irony if he wasn’t so sure it would come out a sob. Easing back onto his heels, he lets his gaze drift down to where their bodies join. Letting his fingers uncurl from a fist, Zuko drags a thumb against the tight ring of muscle, listening as Aang’s breath hitches. He breathes in slow, controlled, like Uncle taught him, let’s his inner fire burn bright. He has captured the Avatar. His thumb nudges forward, sliding against the line of his cock, dragging against Aang’s flushed rim, allowing himself to smirk at the whimper he elicits. His hand eases upwards, pressing against the smooth skin below Aang’s testicles, drags the rough calluses of his palm there before curling his thumb and finger around the root of Aang’s cock.

Every part of Aang goes rigid as Zuko slides his hand up, slick with pre-come, thumbnail pressing gently against the underside of the glistening head. The wail this draws is beautiful, a sound Zuko let’s sink into his mind, printing it across his memory, something to keep him warm at night, later.

As if there is going to be a later.

The irritating stray thought is all his warning before the moment shatters.

“Zuko!” The word echoes despite the tight space of the cave, loud, too loud. Zuko’s anger is blinding, consuming, an inferno within him that burns away any thought, quieting his mind and he gets his knees underneath him, steadies himself with a hand beside the Avatar’s head, and lets all the simmering pain, the humiliation, the _hate_ pour forth and drive him in deep. Aang’s spine arches with a keening cry, heels scrabbling desperately against Zuko’s thighs, his hips, but it is a lie, another lie, a show of struggle when they both know how easily he could escape.

“Zuko, please!” And it’s worse, somehow it’s worse, hearing his name from those lips, a torture he didn’t know could hurt so much, tearing him into pieces. He tears the blindfold away with a snarl, and Aang looks at him, and his eyes are still the _same_. The pain builds, a torturous sweetness that burns, and his thrusts become sloppy, chasing the pleasure that sparks at every touch of pale flesh, every hitched cry from the Avatar’s mouth, and it sounds like victory, it feels like power, too perfect for Zuko to ever be allowed.

“Zu-ko,” Aang hisses, a sharp snarl as he locks his ankles tight against Zuko’s spine, dragging himself up.

The angle is awkward, allowing only the softest touch, but the brush of spit-slick lips is like lightning, engulfing every part of Zuko, dragging him back to chase that clever pink mouth. Aang arches again at the first curl of his tongue, an eager moan, and shudders around him, body going tight, unbearably tight, and Zuko has to drag his mouth away, vision whitening as he came with a strangled cry.

“Zuko,” the husky whisper drags his eyes back open, body still sparking with pleasure. Aang’s eyes glint in the darkness, face to full of emotion that Zuko is trapped, too weak to look away. Had his name ever been said with such reverence before? Like he was something precious, like he was something profound, something _more_.

Lightning flashes in the cold steel of his blade by the Avatar’s neck. The howls of the storm have quieted, leaving Zuko wondering in a quiet corner of his mind if the storm had been the Avatar’s doing, nature bound in human form.

“Zuko,” Aang murmurs, shifts, and Zuko is not surprised when his arms come free behind his back, bound no longer, if they ever were.

Shaky fingers brush against his cheek, a slight pressure against the scar tissue under his eye. There is acceptance there, deliverance, mercy, everything Zuko could have ever wanted. Aang’s fingers touch the corner of his eye, the sensation barely registering against the damaged skin.

“Zuko, please,” the words lick against his mouth as Aang pulls his head down, their breath mixing, heating the air between them. “Please don’t give up.”

Zuko blinks. Such a sweet illusion, such a tempting dream, the Crown Prince and the Avatar, side by side.

How cruel, to give him something he can never have.

“I won’t give up, Avatar,” he swears softly, watching something shutter in Aang’s expression at the title. “Not for my uncle, not for my sister.” He takes a deep, steading breath, even as the tears sting his eyes. “Not even for you.”

The blade is a whisper in the darkness.

Blood flows warm and thick over his hand, pooling against his knees. He allows himself a final moment of weakness, cradling Aang’s head close as weak gurgles escape his mouth.

“Be reborn,” Zuko whispers against slackening lips. “Take this hollow victory with you to the next life, and know that I am a coward in the end.”

Azula finds them hours later, as he knew she would. He is surprised to find her thunderous fury at the body he presents her still manages to spark some small pleasure in his hollow chest. When her lightning cracks through him, the burn almost feels warm, as Aang did. Her scream of rage as he falls tells him she understands. No matter what lies Azula spreads, the Avatar will come again, and they will remember what Zuko did.

Zuko, exiled crown prince of the Fire Nation. The slayer of Avatar Aang. Victory snatched from the hands of his sister, from the Fire Lord himself.

“You coward!” she screams, blue lightning crackling from her fingertips as Zuko sinks to his knees. “Go ahead and die! Die for your precious honour, you filthy wretch!”

Zuko lays back in the muddy ground, pain chasing him swiftly into unconsciousness, and laughs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe my first stab at an actual smut fic is Zukaang in the year of our Lord 2018. I am friend's with terrible filth enablers.


End file.
